Bonding
by Dreamnorn
Summary: Jonesy slipped back into my mind, the desperation on her face when she tried to explain what was going on. I needed to go apologize to her... The near-ending scene from Wybie's POV, plus a little extra. Oneshot. Suggested C/W later.


**Hey, everyone! Dreamnorn is back after an excruciating absence (please, feel free to throw bricks at my impossible tests). I'm here with a little oneshot to hopefully snap me into a fanfiction mood.**

**So, this is for a fandom I haven't written for yet: Coraline. Saw the movie for the first time not too long ago and I absolutely adore it. Amazing characters, engaging plot, imaginary things that seem to fly out of nowhere and everywhere at the same time… I tell you, it's got a whole lot of potential to become a classic. Heck, it may already BE a classic, and it was only released last year!**

**I hate to be totally predictable, but my favorite characters from the movie (aside from Coraline and Cat, who remain favorites from the book) are Wybie and Other Wybie — the former for his socially-awkward, sweetly nerdy persona, and the latter because… well, who can honestly say that they didn't think Other Wybie was adorable? I thought so.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Bonding

_Splash._

It was done. One of the craziest moments of my life was done. I had to keep wondering what on earth just happened even while I helped Jonesy close up the unbelievably deep well. Wouldn't you? I mean, if you went out to apologize in the middle of the night and suddenly you were attacked by a psycho needle-hand that was trying to drag your friend away by her necklace, I can _guarantee_ you would still be wondering what's happened too!

Okay, maybe I'd better explain. Stupid tendency to ramble…

The name's Wybie. Wybie Lovat. Yeah, I know what you're thinking—it's short for Wyborne. Who would name their kid "Wyborne," you ask? Well, apparently my mom would. I never really knew her, and since she passed away I've had no memories of her. The most I know about either of my parents come from Grandma's stories. As far as I know, she's my only living relative.

For years I've lived here alone with Grandma. She's the wealthy landlady of the Pink Palace, an old building renovated as an apartment for tenants who choose to live out in the middle of the woods. I've only been to the palace once, because she doesn't like me going there. When I wasn't at school, I'd spend time riding my half-pedal, half-motorized bike, documenting odd and unusual animals in my journal, and taking pictures of myself doing bizarre things with said animals. Which is really hard, I can tell you that. I mean, calibrating the camera just right while making sure the critter doesn't get away and stands still is a really tough task. I mean…

I'm rambling again, aren't I? Shoot.

So… last week, Grandma rented out an area of the Pink Palace to a new family. A family with a kid my age! Finally, someone I can hang out with on all my adventures! But I found this funny, because Grandma doesn't let families with kids rent. Anyway, I met her maybe five or so days ago. She's probably the first girl to ever talk to me. Well, except my grandma. She doesn't count. The new neighbor's real name is Coraline, but for the sake of not mispronouncing it—and boy, does she hate being called "Caroline"—I call her Jonesy.

Long story short, she made last week absolutely insane. She always talked about crazy things, like people with buttons for eyes and dancing mice and another version of me that never talked (I didn't know whether to be flattered or offended). I'm not going to lie—she sounded nuts! And then there was this whole thing about another world where everything was better, but it was all some sort of trap. Riiiiiight. Compared to all that, if she told me blue was her natural hair color, I would have accepted it as normal.

It took until tonight for me to change my opinion of her.

So, I was editing a few sketches of banana slugs in my journal and correcting a spelling error in its Latin name, _Ariolimax columbianus_, when Grandma called me downstairs. It was ten or so in the evening, but usually she goes to bed by nine. Why was she up so late? Concerned, I went down to our family room. She was sitting in her dusty armchair and holding something to the light of a lamp.

Curious, I hovered towards it and took a look. It was an old picture in shades of brown, black, and white. Two nearly-identical little girls in old-fashioned clothes stood side-by-side. Instinct told me that it was a picture of her and her twin sister before she mysteriously vanished. They both wore the same braids and dresses and stuff, but one of them carried a doll.

It was the doll I gave Jonesy; from the picture I could tell it was the same size and proportions. But for some reason it looked completely different than from how I found it. Call me crazy, but instead of looking like a miniature Jonesy, it looked like… Grandma's twin? Yeah, I wasn't hallucinating. Just like her, except for the button eyes.

My mind flashed back to when Jonesy dragged me into the Pink Palace:

"_The doll's her spy! It's how she watches you, finds out what'__s wrong with your life!__"_

"_The doll… is my Grandma's… spy?"_

"_No! The Other Mother! She's got this whole world where everything's better—the food, the garden… the neighbors!"_

I took a quick breath. It makes sense now. Sort of. If my great-aunt's doll looked just like her back when she was alive, then how did it turn to look like Jonesy? Suddenly her ravings about all this insane stuff didn't seem quite so alien.

"Oh my God," I breathed, at a loss for words. Grandma looked up at me tiredly. I wanted to say something—anything—to break the awkward silence. "Is… is that your sister? And her… doll?"

Grandma groaned a little. I mentally kicked myself. _Smooth move, Wyborne. Real smooth._ I began to stutter, trying to look for a way to apologize, when Grandma gave a heavy sigh. "Yes, Wyborne. Days before she disappeared, she found a doll that looked just like her. This photo was taken before she—."

She stopped suddenly, as if holding back an outburst of sadness. I could tell by the remorseful look in her eyes what she wanted to say. Jonesy slipped back into my mind, the desperation on her face when she tried to explain what was going on.

"Oh my God," I repeated. "G-Grandma? I… I think I need to apologize. To Jonesy?"

"There's no need to ask, Wyborne. Just go." Grandma smiled at me. All of a sudden she looked so old… so sad. I wish I knew what to say to her. _Maybe I'll tell her later._ I tried to grin back. Wordlessly, I took the photo, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as reassurance, and ran to the garage.

As I donned my attire and ran to my bike, I would never have believed that what eventually happened actually… happened. The only thing on my mind was showing Jonesy the picture and apologizing for not paying attention to her. I guess my people skills still need some work.

I pedaled off in the direction of the Pink Palace, my skull mask's eyes illuminating green in the darkness. As I swerved on the side of the road by the hill, the only sound breaking the silence was the soft putting of my bike's motor.

The only sound, that is, until I heard a loud, shrill scream.

I shrieked my bike to a halt. Jonesy! She was close by—and in trouble. I had to help her! But where? I looked towards the well at perhaps one of the freakiest things I'd ever seen—a hand of needles dragging a girl with blue hair by the key on her necklace away from the well and towards the Pink Palace.

I would have probably dwelled on it if I had the time, but I had to act fast. It was choking her! With nothing to lose, I turned on the headlight, sounded the airhorn, drew out my salad tongs and reared on my bike as if it were a trusty steed. With a battle cry I never knew I had, I soared down the hill and yanked the hand away with the tongs.

Frankly, that was as far into my master plan as I got at the time. Thankfully, I think a lot faster than I speak. The well was open, and this thing should never climb out! I swerved towards the well, readying the tongs to drop the hand.

Unfortunately, I underestimated how fast the hand was—how was it even _alive?_—and freed itself from the tongs to pull on my handlebars. Out of control, my bike hit a large rock and the next thing I knew, I was flung into the air and down the well. With the fast reflexes I earned from catching insects, I grabbed onto the edge with one hand and reached out with my other to hang on.

The hand had somehow miraculously managed to snag onto my coat tail and climbed up my back and arm to the well's opening. It felt a lot like a large spider crawling on me, only much, much worse and a lot more painful. Triumphant and angry, the hand poised three dagger-like needles and swiped it on my right hand. The pain was burning cold and stung worse than a bee.

"Gaah!" I panted, yanking my hand back. The nasty, unnerving feeling that it was bleeding was starting to get the better of my senses. I hate blood, and I hate pain. It's just so… bloody. And painful! My pupils shrank as I saw the hand was rearing up one more time for my left hand. I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow that would knock me to the bottom of the well and my untimely death.

Rather than untimely death, however, I was suddenly saved by a breath-quenched Jonesy trapping the monster in a blanket. I grabbed onto the ledge again, adrenaline pulsing through my body. It wanted to kill her! The very idea of her being harmed gave me just the right boost of anger to haul myself out of the well. My eyes, growing slightly dizzy from the bleeding, managed to pick out a heavy rock that I normally would never be able to lift.

I had to do it. With the strength of a bear, I grabbed the rock, roared like a Viking, and threw it with all my might at the needle hand that was threatening to rearrange Jonesy's face. With a loud crash, the hand split apart into dozens of little lifeless needles glinting silver in the moonlight.

My vision became cloudier as the adrenaline rush faded, and my breathing more fast-paced and heavy. Silently, the two of us tied up the remains of the hand and the rock in the blanket with her key necklace and threw it down the well, listening for a muffled splash before closing the lid. My hand screamed in agony, still throbbing and bleeding from the scratches. I bit my lip slightly and tried to ignore the pain. Now was as good as ever to apologize to Jonesy… right?

No. I'm not apologizing to 'Jonesy.' I'm apologizing to Coraline.

I took a deep breath and hoped that I could find the right words for once. I truly needed them. Still panting slightly, I stuttered, "I-I'm really sorry I didn't believe you about all this… evil stuff… Coraline."

_Stupid,_ I cursed myself. _It's not just 'evil stuff.' It's freaking BLACK MAGIC._ Awkwardly, I glanced at Coraline, hoping she didn't take the understatement the wrong way, but her reaction was much different than I expected. Instead of glowering at me for being an idiot, her eyes were wide and she wore a genuine smile on her face. Is it just me, or did she look… awed? Why is she so happy? Was it because I called her by her real name…?

She stood up, her midnight hair reflecting in the light from the waning gibbous moon, and gave me a half-lidded smile. Ooookay. Before now, I would have probably been wigged out. If I know anything about Coraline from the few days I've known her, it's that she rarely smiled. The only exception was that one time I made her laugh when I was goofing around with Slugzilla. Honestly, I would have expected her to punch me on the shoulder.

Instead, she whispered softly, "Why did you change your mind?"

_The picture._

With my left hand (the right one was still stinging), I began rummaging through my pockets. "W-well Grandma showed me this picture… after I called you crazy." I handed Coraline the photo. Her eyes widened slightly. "It's her and her sister," I explained, "before she disappeared."

The orchard's blossoms began to fall in the slight wind as she smiled in realization. "The sweet ghost girl," she breathed.

Off in the distance, I heard Grandma calling me in a loud, worried voice. "Wyborne! Come home!" I grimaced. _How on earth will I tell her that her sister is long-dead?_

Aloud, I asked Coraline, "Oh man… what am I going to tell her?"

She looked up from the photo, still smiling. Yes, she's still smiling. Maybe this black magic stuff got to her head—that's the only logical explanation for her continuous grin. "Just bring her by the house tomorrow," she finally said, "We can tell her together."

_We?_ Since when did Coraline Jones ever address us as 'we?' This was blowing my mind. "We… we can?" I asked.

"You know…" she smirked, "I'm _glad_ you decided to stalk me." She punched me playfully in the arm. I didn't need to hide my relief there. Punching me in the arm sounds _much_ more like her than giving me genuine smiles.

Chuckling nervously, I turned towards where a certain black feline was perching on an old tree stump. Recalling Cat's behavior when Coraline moved in, I said, "Wasn't my idea." Cat meowed in approval from his spot on the stump, his big blue eyes slightly narrowed and mouth curved in an 'I-told-you-so' smile. Coraline and I tilted our heads at him. He tilted his back.

The moon started to show brighter in the clearing. The gray, hand-like wisps of cloud were stretching away, revealing the gibbous sphere in all its glory. Coraline sighed, relieved that it was finally over, and sat down on the stump next to Cat, who rubbed his head against her pajama shirt. Ready to go home, I walked over to where my bike lay on its side in the dirt. My right hand brushed against the handlebar, making me wince and hiss slightly in pain. Cat's head snapped towards me, and he jumped away from Coraline over to where I was kneeling on the ground. He sniffed at my right hand.

"What's wrong with your hand, Wybie?"

Ack! A question! Questions make me nervous. My green eyes shifted a little bit as I struggled to form a coherent sentence. "Oh—uhh, well, uhmm… the hand… sort of… umm…."

"Let me see." Before I could grasp what was going on, Coraline sat down next to me and took off my right glove.

The sight of blood makes me queasy, especially my own. My stomach churned at the sight of my hand. Three brilliant, red marks glinting like moonlight reflecting on crimson water, with streaks slowly treading all over my hand. The cold air stung at it even harder than the warm pressure of the now-torn glove, and I gave a little cry of pain. I averted my eyes, trying to see Coraline's reaction. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates, and she was biting her lip. For a moment she was silent, as if she was reliving a harsh memory. Then she spoke.

"Do you have any bandages on you?"

"N-no," I stammered, unsure of what to say or think. I had a roll of duct tape in my coat, but that was more for repairing my bike than myself. I never really thought about bringing along bandages or gauze or something.

"Mrrowww?" Cat pawed at Coraline's pant pocket. Curiously, she put her hand in and pulled out a shred of cloth. It was black with little white floral patterns on it. She seemed scared (of the cloth?) for a second, but then she smiled brilliantly.

"Cat, you're a genius!"

She placed the cloth on my hand and I gasped a little in pain. "Yowwch! Easy!"

"Hold still and shut up, Why-Were-You-Born. I'll make it quick."

"It doesn't exactly tickle, Jonesy."

Eyes half-lidded, Coraline hushed my words as she glided the cloth along my hand, cleaning off the blood that was caking my hand. I slowed my breathing, trying to ignore the stinging. For a brief moment, I felt her bare fingertips on my gloveless hand. It sent an electrifying tingling sensation through my hand—but, for some reason, it felt… nice. Warm heat-waves stretched throughout my body. My cheeks grew hottest of all.

And suddenly, everything seemed different about Coraline. Her strands of hair were dancing moonbeams in the nighttime sky, playing with the grasses of the hills. Her eyes reminded me of a warm dirt ground with flecks of moss, and the highlights on each were shimmering pearls. Fog made up her skin, so pale and beautiful with little flecks of light—her freckles. The wind embodied her breath, warm and comforting like a summertime breeze in the early morning. Of all those things, though, what got me most was her smile. It was like a picture—only instead of being worth a thousand words, it was worth a million.

Wait… what on earth am I talking about? I think exposure to Coraline has damaged my brain or something.

After what felt like much too short a time, she finished tying off the cloth to my hand and gave me my right glove back. "Wyborne!" I heard Grandma calling again, her voice more urgent than before.

I turned to her. "Th-thanks for everything, Coraline."

She punched me again on the shoulder, smiling in a way that made my cheeks grow warmer. "You're welcome, Why-Were-You-Born."

* * *

Ten minutes later, I entered back into my house, hair full of leaves and hand bandaged up. It took me longer to get home than I thought it would, what with me being exhausted from the whole escapade with the needle-hand. Grandma was tapping her foot, giving me a look that was stern, angry, and worried all at the same time.

"What took you so long, Wyborne? Didn't you hear me when I called you?"

"I heard you, Grandma. It's just that there were a few… things I-I had to take care of."

"Did you show her the picture?"

I nodded and added, "Also… she would like you to come over to the Pink Palace's garden tomorrow afternoon. She—I mean, _we…_ have a lot to tell you."

Grandma hesitated, but I could see why. She doesn't like going near the Pink Palace if she can help it. After a long silence, she whispered in defeat, "Well… I suppose I could drop by for a little while. Her name was Jonesy, right?"

"N-no, Grandma," I stumbled, smiling as I headed towards the stairs. "Her name is Coraline."

I went to bed fully clothed a few minutes later. Cat came in and curled next to me on my right side, purring as gently as my bike's motor. As his tail flicked on my bandages, in my sleep, I couldn't help but imagine that it was Coraline's hand holding mine as we went out on grand little adventures in the shimmering woods of my dreams.

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**There we have it! Man, nothing like a new obsession to put me in the mood to write. Who needs a knight in shining armor when you have your stalker neighbor on a bike, am I right?**

**Any comments or critiques are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading!**


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